Kirika's Second Chance
by Yukihou
Summary: Only when the walls around her crumbled down, when the winter night devoured away the sole star that ever shone in her sky did she finally remember how cold the snow was... and how cold it felt to be alone once again, alone in her personal hell.


Notes:

This story is set shortly after the series finale (say, two months, give or take).

* * *

_Another Chance_

Kirika spun to her left, facing a poorly-lit tunnel with no sign of having an end as another gunshot echo reached her ears. Missions like these, ones that required her to see mostly with her _ears_ rather than her _eyes_, were the most dangerous, especially if their enemies were a lot more familiar with the environment than they were. The dim, flickering lights did nothing against the uncertainty, yet there were _just _enough orange (both _-colored_ and_ -shaped_) lightbulbs to prevent Kirika's eyes from adjusting to the absence of them. Too bad there wasn't any popcorn around, though.

Well, not like they would be of any help, since _they_ were the ones who lacked situational awareness this time. _They _were on the offense.

And now, here she was by herself, sealed off within this labyrinth of a sewage system chasing around sewer rats, some folks that had done something that pissed off their client - she wasn't sure what, and honestly, she didn't think Mireille knew or really cared either - who had the sole key in getting out of here.

The only reason they had accepted this job in the first place was that their client had promised over one million, _one million,_ in exchange for the rat king's head. _"A million euros, Kirika!" Mireille cried with pure excitement. "We could take a... what, ten, twenty-year vacation with this money! The target is just an everyday corrupt corporate businessman; we'll get this job done before you know it! A million, Kirika! We could toss our guns into the dumpster and live like normal people for a change!"_

Of course, they had considered the possibility of this job veiling another dire attempt at getting rid of Noir; after all, they have made many enemies over the years who would probably want to put bullets into their heads. Mireille did mention that their target did have a long history of disagreement with their client, so it was perfectly plausible that the client would have a bone or possibly many bones to pick with their target. In addition, their client was, in fact, the head of another large crime syndicate and aristocratic family who could have likely either believed that the cost for hiring Noir was ridiculously high or simply had too much money to spend.

But in this case, their client had to have a whole skeleton to pick with the rats in order to go this far just for a hit on a single guy.

Kirika had wanted to shout,_ "What if our client is the police, luring us out into arrest, or worse, the Soldats, who decided to get rid of us once and for all?! No one pays _that _much money just to kill one guy, especially some standard-issue criminal scum, no matter _how _successful we are or _how much_ he hates our target, Mireille! Our client expects us to navigate the sewers by ourselves towards the 'storage room' - that apparently doesn't even exist in the sewers - where we could be ambushed around every corner?! They're using the money to obscure the truth from you, Mireille, and they know it! Please, Mireille! This whole operation has a big neon flashing sign pointing at it saying 'TRAP FOR NOIR HERE'! We've become the dumb mice you used to laugh at on TV who _saw_ the mousetrap but _still_ went in for the cheese!" _

Instead, she had mumbled something along the lines of_ "Our client's motive and the sum of money proposed as payment don't add up, Mireille," _coupled with her staring at the ground in her usual dejected gaze.

Mireille had brushed aside Kirika's concerns, assuring her that they would put extra precautions into place before undertaking the assignment. After all, they _were_ the legendary Noir, unofficially the most proficient assassins-for-hire in all of France, carrying out flawless assassinations on all scales from lower-class civilians to high-ranking government officials. A criminal rat hiding in the sewage systems didn't scare them.

And a million was certainly a lot.

But now, locked away with the stinky sewage odor and unnerving silence, Kirika wished that she had tried harder to convince Mireille that this job _had _to be a bait. Mireille was definitely blinded by greed, and it was up to Kirika to finish this mission before something terrible happened. A gunshot echo yanked Kirika out of her contemplations. She gripped her Beretta firmly in both hands and sprinted back silently into the maze.

* * *

The gunshots were now sounding in quick succession, meaning that Mireille and the rats were engaged in a shootout. Kirika suddenly pictured her partner lying bleeding and broken on the filthy sewer floor, bullet holes scattered throughout her body, and bit her lip.

"_Don't worry, Kirika. Just think about how rich we would be once we get this job done!" her partner assured her with a cheerful smile, as if the bounty was already in their hands._

_Mireille was usually far more circumspect - reluctant, really, when it came to strange job offers, but this time it was as if she had thrown it all to the curb._

As the shots increased in volume, Kirika could hear the faint sounds of footsteps scurrying along the cement floor. Judging by the bluntness of the sound, she deduced that the footsteps were from their pursuers, rather than Mireille, who knew well enough to never needlessly make loud, obvious noises in confined areas.

Kirika quickly crouched against a wall as the footsteps approached. There were probably three or four men headed her way. She raised her gun up to her chest, poised to strike, and exhaled, cleansing her mind of trepidation.

_1._

"Division four, division three is arriving for assistance." The footsteps were gradually closing the distance. Three men. Her supposition had been accurate.

_2._

"what... are you saying that the intruder is _one guy_ who managed to _wipe out three divisions by himself?_"

_"Herself,"_ Kirika mentally corrected.

_3._

Kirika rolled out into the neighboring tunnel, surprising the rat in the lead armed with a particularly derelict military-grade rifle. A rifle which promptly slipped out of the man's arms and clattered onto the ground as he staggered back a few steps in shock.

"WHAT THE F-"

His impending profanity was quickly censored by two bullets from Kirika's Beretta, propelling the man back like a bowling ball into the three rats. Two of them slammed against the ground and clutched their heads in pain while the third, who recovered quickly, pulled out his pistol and fired a shot, but his poor aim caused his bullet to miss Kirika by miles and splash into the water. A couple of squeezes later, they too were exterminated.

Unfortunately, the commotion alerted a nearby squadron to take action. Bullet fire erupted out from the abyss ahead, whizzing past Kirika and missing her body by mere inches. She dove towards the pile of corpses and picked up the rifle that the men had dropped earlier. The bullet shower ceased.

Kirika peeked above her makeshift barricade and squinted, desperately attempting to make out any shapes or shadows in the darkness. Nothing.

It was very quiet. _Too_ quiet. Even the sound of gunfire was preferable to this.

_CLICK._

Kirika's eyes widened, her pupils constricting from alarm. She rolled over and raised her rifle up towards the illuminated tunnel intersection behind her, prepared to blast her assailant to shreds.

_Drip Drip._

Ice crawled beneath her skin, igniting her eyes into steely slits, lacing through her muscles and cumulating together into a howling storm at her fingertip... urging to surge into the trigger.

_Crackle._

A silent gasp escaped her lips.

Not a single soul was in sight. Kirika quickly peeked her rifle's barrel around the corner where she had hidden only minutes ago. The intersecting tunnel was empty and filled with complete silence, except for the steady flow of sewage water and the buzzing of electricity within the flickering LED light. She gritted her teeth.

Kirika _knew_ that she didn't hallucinate the click and that the sound _certainly_ had come from behind her. The brightness of the lamp lit her face ablaze, forcing Kirika to roll back over and rub the fire out of her eyes.

And then she remembered that she was in the sewers.

Kirika pounced to her left just as a bullet screamed by, grazing her shoulder. She stumbled, crashing against the wall from the pain, and aimed her rifle back towards the darkness. There, located right between her crosshairs stood two amorphous shadows, both of which had the distinctive outlines of pistol muzzles in front of them. Two more shots flew past Kirika as she unloaded her entire clip into her opponents, peppering their bodies with holes. The sound of two muffled _thumps _indicated her temporary safety, and she slid back down to the floor, propping her body against the men she had killed earlier. She quickly wrapped her wound with a roll of bandages she carried in her pockets and winced as another wave of pain crashed through her body.

_Mireille. _The name, a mere echo now, lingered in her ears.

Kirika tucked her legs inwards in an attempt to stand up, but the unbearable pain pinned her down. The waves were now rivers, constantly coursing throughout Kirika's systems.

She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut. Once she found Mireille and kill their target, they would be out of this terrible place and the million euros would be theirs. Despite her agonizing shoulder wound, Kirika smiled. She pictured the two of them taking a stroll along the riverbank late at night in the cool evening breeze, surrounded by nature's quiet beauty. Mireille would smile and talk enthusiastically about something, perhaps about how the leaves raining down in autumn appeared to be beams of sunlight striking the ground - it really _did _look like that, to Kirika anyways - as Kirika looked on at the red-streaked sky reflected in the water. She pictured herself gazing out from the balcony, staring at the sun peeking above the skyline as the smell of Mireille's cooked breakfast wafted past her into the streets below. They would be safe, free of any worries.

Scarlet streaks cascaded into her tousled mops of black hair, bifurcating into tortuous webs as they inched down her cheeks. Once again, a gunshot rang far away. Somewhere in this hellhole was her partner, wondering where in the world Kirika was.

* * *

Kirika sprinted down the tunnels, gripping her gun in her good hand while keeping her wounded arm from flailing about. The dim orange lights were now left far behind, forcing her to rely completely on her ears if she were to have any chance at taking out a threat before it took out her.

As she leaped over the streams between intersecting passageways, she noticed a wooden door to her left, across the water on the other side of the tunnel. A soft light emitted from the slit beneath the door, piquing her curiosity.

_"Storage," _the metal plaque on the door read. Kirika's eyes brightened. She reached for the doorknob with her gloves and turned it as slowly as she could. It didn't budge, which meant that she would have to initiate the infallible "Plan B".

_"A thumb-turn lock,"_ Kirika thought to herself. She scanned the doorframe, making sure that the hinges were on the inside, and narrowed her eyes. Kirika raised her left foot and kicked the door as hard as she could, causing her shoulder wound to scream out in pain. The door swung open with a bang, revealing seven surprised men sitting around a large table, each with a glowing monitor in front of them.

Three men were taken out before the other four flipped the table over, sending their evidently-expendable computers shattering on the linoleum floor, and dove behind their impromptu shield. Kirika unloaded several shots as she rolled behind a small desk and quickly upturned it with a shove. Her target wasn't among the three dead men, meaning that she couldn't slip away just yet. Blood soaked out from her soggy makeshift dressing onto her arm.

Using a pocketknife she conveniently had tucked away in her pouch, Kirika carved out a small hole in the desk's underbelly and peeped her gun's barrel through it. Another three unfortunate men who had exposed their heads received bullets to their faces, falling instantly. Once silence ensued, Kirika silently slipped out of her hiding spot and crawled up against the table. Heavy breaths that wheezed their way out of the remaining man's throat assured Kirika that he was not aware of her presence. She stood up.

The last thing the man saw was the muzzle of a Beretta M1934 as his blood spurted out onto the floor.

* * *

Shots rocked the sewage like thunder, much louder than they were before. The remote for the sewer entrance hatch wobbled in Kirika's pocket as she closed the distance between herself and the skirmish. Again, blunt footsteps stormed the passageways, this time consisting of dozens.

A loud gunshot rang in her ears, followed by a high-pitched scream. Kirika sprinted faster, ignoring the excruciating pain that re-emerged in her shoulder.

"Mireille!"

The gunshots subsided. Kirika darted into the tunnel on her right and froze. There, at the dimly-lit cross intersection, slumped against the wall in a pool of blood, was Mireille, eyes closed, her gun lying beside her. Tears formed in Kirika's eyes as she stared on in disbelief.

"MIREILLE!"

Bullets rained from every direction as men swarmed the spotlight. Kirika narrowed her eyes and fired six shots, sending five men buckling as their guts went soaring into the air. A man ran towards her with a sword, aiming for her back. Kirika ducked as the man lunged forward and fired a bullet into the man's jaw, bursting the man's face open and staining Kirika's clothes with splotches of flesh. She wrenched the sword out of the decapitated man's grasp and skewered another assailant before he could fire off a shot, drenching her upper torso. Two men in the distance, struggling to find an opening, suddenly toppled as crimson bouquets bloomed behind them. The surviving men were paralyzed with fear, unable to process the horror that had unfolded before them.

"Let's get the hell out of here!"

Kirika darted behind the slowest man and swung her sword up, bifurcating him from groin to head. Utilizing the blade as an oversized throwing knife, she impaled a man several yards away in his stomach, yanked out her Beretta, and proceeded to ruthlessly massacre the rest. Blood flowed into the sewage, staining it red. Scattered across the cement corridor laid bullet shells and imploded organs, detached limbs, fingers, hair...

Short, shallow breaths rasped out of Kirika's throat. As her bloodlust seeped away, her mind cleared and her eyes widened up back into large maroon-tinted orbs.

"MIREILLE!"

She rushed back to Mireille and knelt beside her, nudging Mireille like a dog trying fruitlessly to get its owner's attention. A bullet hole rested on Mireille's chest, right above her heart.

"MIREILLE! MIREILLE! MIREILLE!" Kirika screaming as she prodded Mireille, pleading for Mireille to open her eyes, to say something, _anything_.

"Mireille," she whispered, her voice hoarse. Blood and tears mixed together and dripped off of Kirika's chin. Pink flowers blossomed on Mireille's shirt, seeping away into the cotton. Kirika buried her face into Mireille's neck, wrapped her arms around Mireille, and sobbed.

Mireille was gone, forever. Just like that.

* * *

She remembered running through the tunnels as footsteps pounded behind her. She remembered the screaming as blood erupted out of their bodies, the splashes of bodies crashing into the water, never to resurface.

She remembered crawling out of the sewers, covered in grime and dripping with blood, some of it her own, some of it from the sewer rats, and some from...

She remembered stifling a tear.

She remembered walking over a bridge late at night two days later, collapsing over the parapets from exhaustion as she stared at the moonlight glimmering in the water, the million euros all but forgotten. Where would she go now? The Soldats? Chloe and Altena were dead, and the rest of them would kill her on first sight. Kirika couldn't go back to the apartment, that was Mireille's home, and without Mireille, it was empty, fittingly trashed and broken. She buried her face into her arms and whimpered as the truth struck her in the stomach.

A home.

_"You'll take the tunnels on the left and I'll go take the tunnels on the right. Based on our assumptions, the storage room should be here..." Mireille drew a circle on the sewer map. "I'll lead our target's henchmen away while you carry out the assassination. If all goes well, we'll regroup here..." Mireille circled an entrance to the sewers farther in, "and bail without a scratch. Simple." Kirika nodded with approval and looked up at Mireille, prompting the Corsican to smile. Mireille tucked the map away into her pockets and pulled out her gun. _

_"Good luck, Kirika." _

_Kirika pulled out her Beretta._

_"Good luck, Mireille."_

Kirika wailed, striking the stone with her fist. Beads of tears streamed down Kirika's face, some drenching into her sleeves and some rolling into the dark water below.

Why couldn't have Kirika said more?

There was nothing more she could think of to say to Mireille... yet there was _so_ much more, _too_ much she still wanted to tell her, _needed_ to tell her.

The Soldats's pocket-watch slipped out of Kirika's jacket, cracking open on the ground and filling the air with the all-too-familiar melody. Her mind drifted away back to that fateful afternoon in Corsica all those years ago.

_"Please... take care of Mireille."_

_You are a liar, Yuumura Kirika._ Kirika shook her head wildly, even though she knew it to be the truth. _You could have opted to go with her._

She cupped a handful of water into her palms and pressed her fingers as hard as she could against one another, yet water still trickled down the back of her hand, dripping back into the murky currents below.

_You could have saved her, and yet you still stayed silent._

_Why?_

Why couldn't have Kirika truly realized that behind Mireille's superficially-indifferent exterior was the only soul who would ever see a _person_ underneath the sublime killing machine trapped in an endless winter, numbed from the frost? Why did she always turn a blind eye to the burning candle in the darkness, radiating a passionate warmth that had enveloped Kirika with a tender feeling of home which she had long forgotten, a tender feeling of belonging foreign to her frozen heart?

Because... because she knew that she didn't deserve _any_ of it. Any of _her_.

And now the light was gone, taken away by the hands of Hell to leave Kirika drifting aimlessly, hollow, forever alone in the dark. Alone in a crowd, like how Mireille had described the feeling when they first met.

A wisp of smoke wafting amidst the howling blizzard upon a grotesque stub of wax eroded into deformity was all that remained, slowly dissipating unceremoniously into the darkness without a second thought.

The wind ruffled her hair, blowing specks of blood into the sky.

_"So you're just saying that you passed up this great lead?"_

_"Mhm."_

_"And that you didn't even think about getting the copy-"_

_"Mmm," she affirmed and nodded, without hesitation. She didn't need time to think of an answer._

Another scene sped by. Kirika gasped for breath as the memories clawed deeper and deeper into her heart, yet she squeezed her eyes further shut, fearing that she would forget the presence of the candle left behind if she stared into the darkness of the world. That she would never see any light again, even if it was just a shadow of one.

_"You are a splendid assassin... and you are a disturbing enigma. Please... get out of my sight. Please... just for now."_

She sobbed harder.

_"Mireille, let go." _

_A single tear landed on Kirika's sleeve as Mireille's grip tightened. The look in Mireille's eyes made Kirika's heart soar, yet her stomach clenched in fear._

_Why? Why did Mireille forgive her?_

_Why did Mireille accept her?_

_Nonetheless, Kirika smiled softly and grabbed onto Mireille's hand with her other arm, taking Mireille's kindness for granted._

_Just like everything she stole from Mireille._

Kirika's legs gave out underneath her as the last of her strength seeped away, sending her crashing to the icy stone floor. She laid there asprawl, freezing, too weak to push herself back up.

_"Shoot me!"_

_Mireille stood there, several feet away, with her gun pointed at Kirika._

_"Shoot me, Mireille!"_

_Mireille didn't budge. Then, out of the blue, her arms slackened._

_"Mireille! Mireille!"_

_Turning around and walking away..._

_"Mireille! Kill me!"_

_... vanishing amongst the graves..._

_"Mireille! Mireille! MIREILLE!"_

_Kirika sank to the ground and curled herself into a tight ball, desperately attempting to keep the last of her warmth from escaping into the frigid morning air._

_"Mireille..."_

_Don't leave me alone... Mireille..._

Her eyes fluttered open, stinging, bled dry of tears.

But it didn't hurt. Nothing did anymore, except for the emptiness that gnawed away at her chest. The melody vanished into the night, leaving Kirika to peer forever into the twisted laugh of insanity.

_Don't worry, I... I know you won't forgive me. I... I killed you, Mireille._

Kirika pulled out her Beretta and pressed it to her temple.

_Mireille..._

_I'm sorry. _

_For everything. _

_Noir will finally pay retribution._

_Noir will finally see the daybreak._

She closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger.

* * *

Kirika heaved a breath as her eyes snapped open. She darted her eyes wildly around the darkness, her rasps heavy and rapid. Beads of sweat covered her forehead, rolling down her cheek and the sides of her face. Was this Hell?

She turned to her left and widened her eyes.

"Mireille!"

There, lying on her side facing away was her partner. She was dressed in her usual sleepwear, not in a blood-speckled tool vest and blue jeans. Her chest rose and fell in a steady, rhythmic pattern, not in the motionless, lifeless state they had been in before. Golden locks flowed down from her head, pooling onto the bed.

In the blink of an eye, Kirika propped herself up on her forearm and flipped Mireille over, checking her partner's nightgown for any signs of her injury. Her hands came back dry, not warm and sticky with blood. Unconvinced, she lowered her head closer and slid her hand underneath Mireille's shirt, feeling for the hole that had so unforgivingly devoured her life away—

_SLAP!_

Kirika gasped and jerked her head up, rubbing the now-reddening spot where she had been slapped. Mireille's smooth, slender hand — one of the many features her partner possessed which Kirika secretly admired for their delicacy and beauty as she caressed them while Mireille was asleep — had stricken Kirika hard on her cheek. She stared at Mireille, startled and confused.

Then, Kirika's cheeks flushed even redder as she remembered where her other hand was.

"I... Mireille... I... I..."

Mireille's hand jabbed into Kirika's arm and gestured at something in the dark. Kirika's gaze fell onto where Mireille's finger was pointing at and squeaked in embarrassment, realizing that her arm was still beneath Mireille's shirt. She quickly yanked her hand out, flustered, and tried to form a coherent excuse as to why her right hand had crawled its way under Mireille's sleepwear to fondle her partner's breasts.

Too late. Mireille straightened her shirt and turned away, slipping back into blissful sleep. Hopefully, Mireille would forget what Kirika had done by the time she woke up.

Kirika sighed in relief. It had all just been a really bad dream, a nightmare. There was no million euro job, they were still in their apartment in Paris, and most importantly-

Kirika sank back down and slipped her right arm under Mireille's. With a quick yank of her arms, Kirika squeezed Mireille close into a protective embrace, melting into her partner's back. She nuzzled her nose against Mireille's nape and closed her eyes as a smile graced her lips. A single tear squeezed out of Kirika's eye and soaked into Mireille's pajamas.

"Mireille, promise... promise me... that you won't ever leave. Promise me... that you won't die, Mireille. Please, I... I need you..." she murmured, trailing off as her plea was met with silence.

Honestly, Kirika didn't expect a response, even though her heart longed desperately for an answer. It was best that Mireille stayed asleep; Kirika feared the false hope that would fill Kirika's mind if Mireille said "Yes". And if Mireille didn't... Kirika grabbed a fistful of Mireille's nightgown and clenched it tightly in her hand. The young Japanese woman suddenly became self-conscious of her close proximity with her partner and untangled herself out from between Mireille's limbs, a light blush dusting her cheeks. Immediately, she began to feel cold, alone and lost once again in the darkness.

_"Please... take care of Mireille. I beg you... to lend your great strength to her aide."_

A single tread against the bedsheets propelled her back towards Mireille. Kirika wrapped as much of her body she possibly could around her partner, yearning for the Corsican's warmth and comforting touch.

_Even if you won't, Mireille, I will... I promise. Forever._

The first sunlight of the day broke through the window and basked the maidens of darkness with light.


End file.
